


Black Stockings

by Phoenix1966



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Implied Relationships, Implied Top Dean, M/M, NSFW Art, Set Sometime After Season 6, implied bottom Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 01:38:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11681316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix1966/pseuds/Phoenix1966
Summary: Sam and a trick of the light.





	Black Stockings

**Author's Note:**

> Short drabble I wrote right before I found out I was out of a job.
> 
> Standard disclaimer applies that this was all for fun and no profit was made and no copyright infringement intended.
> 
> I do not give permission for anyone to repost my works anywhere. If this continues, I will delete all my work and no longer post.

@justanothertart

 

Sam was pretty sure that Dean would be gone for hours. When they’d landed at the motel, his big brother had done the most cursory cleaning on record and blown out again like an ill-wind. Sam imagined a long evening of hustling and cheap whiskey in Dean’s immediate future, cocky grin charming and smarming the locals. They’d fall for it, like everyone did. Like Sam did. And Sam had no right to complain; he’d lost it years ago. They needed the cash and Dean was more comfortable fleecing the natives than Sam ever would be. End of story.

So, he had the room to himself for a few hours.

Carefully tossing his laptop bag on the table, Sam flopped down, running his fingers through his surprisingly clean hair. Their last hunt had been a rarity: a truly simple salt ‘n burn and they were both no worse for wear. He rummaged around in his bag, sliding out his laptop, and flipped open the lid. Waiting for the thing to boot up, he admitted to himself his heart wasn’t truly in researching another case. He threaded his fingers together behind his head and leaned back against the chair. It popped at the shift in weight as loudly as Sam’s spine. His gaze wandered around the room absently.

It wasn’t too late yet. The sun was filtering in through the window, casting blocky shadows on the wall near the bed and Sam’s thoughts drifted to things other than spirits and demons. The sharp lines declaring the hour divided the wall into different colors, like it was painting things that weren’t there. He held up his hand, watching as the darkness trickled down toward his palm and wrist and forearm. At that twilight hour, it made his hand look like he was wearing fingerless gloves. He flexed his fingers back and forth, smirking at the whimsical mood he had fallen into.

Pushing away from the table, he walked over to the wall, fingers brushing against the faded paper. Glancing back, he noticed the mirror over the room’s sole bureau gave him a pretty decent view of himself where he stood. The sharp line of shadow crossed his legs. His jeans looked like he’d soaked them from the thighs down. They were dark as midnight. Glancing at the nightstand clock, he figured he had a few hours until Dean came back. Sucking his lower lip into his mouth, he mulled over a fanciful idea.

Turning back towards the wall, he began to slowly unbutton his flannel overshirt. Letting the plaid thing fall to the ground, he yanked his t-shirt off and dropped it as well, his hair briefly haloing around him when he did. He thumbed the buttons of his jean’s fly free and tugged both them and his boxer briefs down and kicked them aside. Assuming a position he’d been in more than once ( most recently  thanks to law enforcement, but stolen moments on the road, too), Sam placed his palms against the dated wallpaper, fingers splayed, and spread his legs. Taking a deep breath, he twisted around and took a good look at his reflection in the mirror.

Sure enough, the shadows draped his long legs in darkness. The illusion was almost perfect. As he arched his back to get a better look, unconsciously popping out his ass in the process, Sam sucked in a breath. It was almost like he really was wearing black stockings and he was hard pressed not to drag a hand along the back of one thigh. But if he did that, the illusions would have been shattered. There would be no silky, smooth whisper of fabric to catch beneath the pads of his fingers. He could only look but not touch.

It had been years since he’d indulged in the feel of stockings. Dean and he lived in each other’s pockets too much for him to chance it. His brother would never understand this need Sam had to feel something soft and sensual in a life full of violence. This was as close as he could get to seeing himself in the real thing. It would have to be enough. Licking his lips, Sam rolled up onto the balls of his feet, pleased with the flex of muscles in his thighs and glutes. Before he could contemplate anything else, however, the doorknob jiggled briefly before Dean flung the door wide open.

“How does a town this size not have a pool…” he began, voice dying out when he got a good look at Sam.

For his part, Sam was frozen in place. All the blood plummeted to his feet and he felt utterly terrified. There was no way he could explain what he was doing in a way that would appease his brother. Crazily, he noticed the open door had allowed the setting sun to carve out a mirror image in the wall next to him in molten gold and Sam had the urge to see if he could run through it and escape. There was no way this could end well.

“What the fuck?” Dean snapped, dropping a bag Sam didn’t know he was carrying to the ground with a slightly wet thud. Sam vaguely watched the way the bottom of the sack bulged and expanded, incontinent with grease, unable to meet his brother’s stare. Behind it, the older man scrambled to slam the door shut.

The harsh bang snapped Sam out of his daze and he began to make a move, turning away from his brother’s unrelenting gaze.

“Don’t,” Dean rasped, voice harsh and unyielding. “Don’t you dare move.”

Sam faced the wall, dangling his head down. His brother’s tone was deadly and final. Bunching up his shoulders and squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to brace himself for the onslaught (verbal or physical, he wasn’t sure which Dean would choose first) his brother was about to unleash. Caught up in his worry, he didn’t hear his brother pad across the carpet and so he couldn’t help but jump when a pair of callused hands glided up his calves and pressed into his thighs before finally cupping his ass.

“Sammy,” Dean breathed, hot and heavy into his ear.

Despite (or maybe because of) his fear, Sam relaxed back into the hold his brother had on him. There was no escaping Dean. But his terror receded as soon as he heard his brother call him that hated (loved) name.

“Do you have any idea what you look like?” Dean demanded softly, squeezing his asscheeks confidently. “Of course you do,” he continued on, not waiting for Sam to answer, “the way you were straining and preening for yourself. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

Sam didn’t know if he was supposed to answer or not. It was almost impossible to hear much above the pounding of his heart and he was mortified to feel his cock start to swell at the sound of his brother’s whisper. It couldn’t get any worse than this. And then Dean pressed himself along Sam’s back, the rough scratch of denim a vivid counterpoint to the impossibility of what was happening. It grounded Sam in the here and now.

“I –” Sam stuttered, swallowing dryly. Dean crowded close enough that his belt buckle dug into crest of Sam’s bare ass.

“Shut up,” Dean murmured, voice whisper-sweet and sticky wet against the curve of his ear. “Unless you’re going to tell me you don’t want this, I don’t want to hear another word out of your mouth.” He sucked a mark behind Sam’s ear before adding, “Unless it’s my name your screamin’.”

And Sam could barely breathe. It had been too many years since they’d done this. Years where lies, demons, angels and hell had come between them. Centuries for Sam since they’d touched with anything resembling love and he’d long since given up hope.

“Dean,” he croaked, not sure what he meant to say, fingers clawing the old wallpaper.

Dean stilled his hands, fingers drumming against Sam’s narrow hips absently, body rock-hard and strung bow-tight against his bare skin. But he’d stopped the demanding press of his cock against Sam’s cleft.

“Don’t stop,” Sam gasped, relieved, when he heard the  _vrpp_  of Dean’s zipper.

It was a sound as hopeful and comforting as the rumble of the Impala.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The original version is [here](http://phoenix1966sbottom.tumblr.com/post/163699077139/wrote-this-before-i-got-laid-off-sam-was-pretty) if you want to reblog on Tumblr.
> 
> You can find out about fic updates and what I'm planning on working on at my Tumblr, where I also post fic recs for bottom!Jared/Sam stories.
> 
> [This](http://phoenix1966sbottom.tumblr.com/post/149912060889/about-this-blogsticky-post) post will tell you about the blog, so you know what you're getting into. :)


End file.
